A shrill soundpierced the silence, and sleep was lost to me. The shriek caught in my throat, and I realized it was mine. Chipped nails clawed at my chest. The air in the room grew thick as mud, and I struggled to breathe. I grasped my stomach and found unmarred skin underneath fine linen, but every muscle inside cramped around a nightmare wound.
Within the echoes of my dream, I felt like throwing up all over again. No spark of life, not even a glint of misplaced humor. That husk on the floor which once housed Sir Sigve, staring at me with empty eyes. A shudder traced down my back.
"I heard—Lady Soledad! What's wrong?" He barged in, my companion. Somehow, I knew he would.
He shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. Though this was my room, my possessions. From the window and shining around us was the brilliant morning light, and the glimmering blue sea reaching for the sun. Sweat made my nightgown sticky. I drew a palm across my forehead, sweeping sweaty hair from my skin. Sir Sigve's gaze lingered as he finally let go of the hilt at his belt. What's wrong? The question echoed in my mind like a voice cast back and forth against the hills of a vacant valley.
"Nothing at all," I said at last.
"Forgive me, but . . . you do not sound fine at all."
Well, there was nothing to be done for my dull tone.
"And . . . you don't look so good."
"Why, thank you." Fine, I didn't have Mother's pretty oval face or high cheekbones, but—
"You look sick. And you're staring, my lady."
"I think . . ." What could I say? Even the images were fading from my grasp, too faint to retain. "Just a bad dream. That's all."
"I see." Sir Sigve glanced out the window. "The Disandri reached Fiar an hour ago. I'll wait for you on deck." He was already halfway out the door when he added, "Unless . . . we could return to Rimdalir right away."
"You can go, I didn't ask you to come along." I stuck my nose up, hating my own snobby attitude a little. But it often proved effective.
"I promised I'd protect you."
"I can barely remember." Of course, I knew about it. Sir Sigve had never been allowed to forget, but I had trouble recalling the incident. I had only been nine. Vivid in my memory was the image of Hogne, stringing his bow for one last, successful shot in the royal tournament. Sir Sigve kneeling, in a jest promising to protect me? Not so much.
"But your father does—regrettably," Sir Sigve said, his words uttered through clenched teeth. It was a pitiable sight, though he had made this bed quite on his own.
I met my companion's eyes. "And he allowed me to travel."
"Only if I stayed with you," Sir Sigve reminded me, arms crossed in front of him.
"And I implore you, be more careful."
Sir Sigve's tense face eased up. "My lady, I'm barely old enough to be your father. This makes me feel old. And if I was," he said, "though thank the gods I'm not—we would definitely not be here."
"But you're not my father, and thank the gods."
He nodded, turning toward the door. "Right."
"Sir Sigve? Being your daughter wouldn't have been too bad, I think."
He cast me a bewildered look.
"Fewer suitors," I explained.
I caught his small smile. We were related if one searched far enough down the family lineage, but he was more an uncle to me than my real uncles. He had been present my entire childhood, trying—and failing—to teach me the use of weapons, watching over me and my sister Madalyn. Sir Sigve was family.
He left me, knowing no monsters had gobbled me up yet. I dressed and packed with sluggish movements, then followed my guardian up on deck. The ocean spread out until it merged with the sky, and if I turned, the port. Workers labored in the hot, dense air, while travelers disappeared into the city proper. A few leafy palm trees rustled in the wind.
My stomach twisted. My body heaved, trying to expel some lingering emptiness. Cold moisture spread from my neck to my forehead; a weakness began in the thighs and ran down my legs. I had to grip the railing for support.
A deep breath, another one, and it settled. Still, I failed to summon my earlier excitement for Fiar. Maybe Sir Sigve was right, and I was sick. We could stay on the ship, let it whisk us away to a new place waiting to be explored.
One of the Disandri's sailors walked by.
"Excuse me? When will this ship leave again?"
"Not in another fortnight, miss." He could as well have hit me across my face.
Mind blank, my mouth opened. "So long."
"Is something bothering you, miss?" The sailor's not-so-subtle, lingering glances toward the ship, his shuffling feet, told me he only stayed to avoid insulting me.
I forced a smile to the surface. It was easily done, with enough practice. Still, it was stiff and wrong somehow. "No, never mind."
This was my adventure—of course I should explore Fiar, and no nightmare would stop me. I felt better anyway, and Sir Sigve should be spared from needless worries. With a deep breath, I skipped to his side, my shoulders relaxing as Sir Sigve's troubled expression lifted.
I toyed with a single coin between my fingers, flipping it up to reflect light with its blank surface. Two creatures gleamed at me. Their noses nuzzled and their tails intertwined to form a heart. Dragons. From the moment the coin had come into my hand, I wanted to see the country it belonged to. And finally, we were here. Hikari, Land of the Sun.
Sir Sigve possessed a considerably heavier coin purse. I would have to lure—no—guide him to invest our money properly. For example, he had no understanding of the true value of food.
On my first steps into Fiar, everything somehow seemed right. The kind where nothing is amiss, every house, ship, and barrel is where it should be—a sense of knowing, which would disappear if something was removed or changed. Like the cart filled with carpets. Or the dark men buzzing back and forth on a neighboring ship. One of them waved and grinned at me.
In the harbor, three travel-worn, dust-ridden sacks mingled in with clean ones. I avoided a bump in the dirt road. Ahead was the overflowing main street leading to the local market. Nothing was new to me.
Eyes stared at us. Granted, we appeared as foreign to this land as we were and probably rich too, but they made me queasy. People performed their everyday routines, and I could see nothing unexpected for a busy, bubbly city. Bright colors with deep shadows.
We arrived at the market square. Voices called from stands and corners. People surrounded us, reaching out with their wares, staring, shouting, pointing . . .
"Have a taste of our famous cakes, sweets—oh, miss! You look terribly ill. Poor you, come here." A girl some years younger than me waved us over, putting a hand at my back. "Over here, sit down, I'll fetch some water so please, just relax." There was something strange about receiving such caring gestures, seeing the motherly air of someone so young.
"I'm fine. Not used to the heat."
She ignored my mumbling. "Take a cake, miss. Which one do you want?" Before me was an assortment of delicious little baked things. A golden-brown pastry caught my eyes and was quickly deposited in one hand, a glass of water in the other.
"Say, miss, I'll tell you the latest news." Eyes gleaming, excitement sprang to life in the girl's tan face. Such impressive determination to lift my spirit.
I almost expelled the long sip of my drink, pearls of sweat breaking out on my forehead as a fresh wave washed over me. After a few breaths, it passed. I never knew my body hated heat to this extent.
The girl fussed, moving objects around in her stall restlessly, probably waiting for me to calm down. She would soon burst from elation.
"Your prince is getting married," I said. In front of me, the stone dragons gleamed in the sun.
"Yes!" The market girl spun on the spot. "To a foreign princess, I heard, and she's supposed to be very beautiful. Miss, you already knew!"
"I . . . did." I swallowed through a thickness in my throat. I must have heard it somewhere. There was a strange, tight sensation in my chest.
The girl droned on, lost in herself. "Oh, this wedding is the most exciting thing happening in years. They might even hold the Ceremony of Bonding. My mom says they probably won't, but perhaps they will after all."
"How nice." I failed to bring life to my voice. The lack of enthusiasm about marriage could be attributed to my faint condition, right? A royal marriage. Political, no doubt. Probably forced, that poor girl.
"Yes! It is a joyous occasion." The girl flashed her white teeth, eyes too far off to notice the lack of a response in her listeners. As surely as we were victims to her thoughts, here was another victim of romance and naïvety. "He can't take the throne without a new wife." Ah, and there came the real reason.
"Why is that?" Sir Sigve pulled at his beard, showing a spark of interest. In Rimdalir, the firstborn took the throne. Heirs were of course needed, but Madalyn could rule just fine without a husband if she had to. Hikari seemed to be different. Personally, I found little fun in politics.
The girl eyed him. "Why? It's law. The king and queen rule together. They keep the throne together. And since our queen died—may she rest with Rashim—Hikari needs a new ruling pair."
"So romantic." Nothing veiled the sarcasm drying up my voice.
The girl blinked, perhaps sensing perilous ground under her feet. "Well, no, but . . ."
I drained the water. Due to our walk under Hikari's harsh sun, it disappeared faster even than Torvald's raspberry juice. I hoped, by the gods, I conveyed some gratitude despite my mood. "What's your name?"
"Sarina." Her white smile returned, apparently never gone for long. For some reason, I thought of my sister. It was with slight regret I missed Madalyn's new budding love, her growing feelings for the only non-family noble I could tolerate. Although my sister, if anyone, understood the sudden need to get away from Eldaborg.
"Nice to meet you, Sarina. Thank you for helping me."
"It was no problem, miss. Here, take this, I insist." Sarina pushed an orange little pastry into my hand.
As I met Sarina's eyes, I knew we were of twin minds, and we turned upon Sir Sigve as one. Parting with his coins, he delivered a sigh that sounded like it came from the depth of his soul.
Sarina's radiance was only matched by mine. A fellowship meant to be.
"I'll pay you back, you know." My promise did little to appease Sir Sigve's grumbling face.
"I'll take that as it comes," he said. "We should be able to get proper food over there." My companion pointed to a small establishment, a tavern or inn of sorts.
We wandered through the streets after a splendid—and very late—breakfast, which might or might not have included a piece of honey-filled cake. And if they sold it practically everywhere, who could blame me for indulging?
The walk was slow. On the pretext of leisure, I hid how the heat sent my head spinning and weakened my legs. We mostly kept to the meager shadows of houses, staving off the worst burn. At the outskirts of town, dust swirled across the ground and the green met an end. The very last building was a worn but vast stable.
The camels seemed peaceful enough until one of them aimed a glob of spit directly at Sir Sigve. He sidestepped quickly.
"Don't disappoint the poor animals now," I said, struggling not to laugh.
My companion threw me a wary glance. "Indeed. What a tragedy that would be." By the gods' skaal, that man lacked humor. "I'm relieved to see you still have your wit, if nothing else, Lady Soledad."
A caravan came into sight, trudging out of town with dust clouds settling in its wake—but I should be a part of that group. My limbs were so heavy. I grasped for thoughts but found only fog. Fatigue—like my body and mind had been wrung and torn too many times. I struggled through the humidity for another intake of air. This place, despite the golden cakes, was set on suffocating me—and the group leaving Fiar felt like a lifeline waving goodbye.
It must have shown on my face.